


not in love

by st_elsewhere



Category: Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Character Study, Headcanon, M/M, Mutual Attraction, Size Difference, Unresolved Sexual Tension, awesome martha kent, hope i did them justice because they both are so complex, there are hints though
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-16
Updated: 2016-05-16
Packaged: 2018-06-04 20:58:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6675217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/st_elsewhere/pseuds/st_elsewhere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>bruce doesn't think it's a wise idea to follow the kid home. he's stranded in a small town he didn't know exist on the map until the GPS told him that 'smallville' equal to 'the shortest shortcut to metropolis'. no.</p>
            </blockquote>





	not in love

**Author's Note:**

> lmao fcuk ya writer's block. this had been sitting on my draft for weeks jaysus.  
> was gonna dedicate this to the queen of bottom!with!on point!characterisation!clark @TsukinoKei but ugh too meh and now i need yo help for plot.
> 
> seriously.
> 
> hit me up with plot that involves bottom!clark and older!bruce. i'd be happy to try writing them.
> 
> but still, please enjoy.

 

 

 

“um, sir? would you like any help?”

bruce looks up to find a kid staring down at him with a grimace. his good old camaro sure isn’t in its greatest shape; a high trail of dark smoke is coming out from the carburetor and the left rear tire had seen better days before it went flat all of a sudden.

the kid has big blue, blue eyes.

“my house is just right around the corner, we can call a tow truck.” the kid continues, he sounds very soft and polite. “we have fresh lemonade too.”

huh.

“hey. thank you so much.” bruce manages to answer despite his slight confusion. did the kid just invite him over for a lemonade? bruce doesn't think it's a wise idea to follow the kid home. he's stranded in a small town he didn't know exist on the map until the GPS told him that 'smallville' equal to 'the shortest shortcut to metropolis'. no.

but then again, didn't the kid just show him the famous southern hospitality?

“thank you.” bruce says once again. he closes the hood of his car and towers over the kid by a couple of inches. the kid has good physique; lean, but packing muscles in the right places. a football player? track team's ace? at least, if things take the nastiest turn, bruce won't feel too sorry if he has to knock the kid out. he's going to have a fair fight, probably. “did you see me driving through with flat tire or what? how did you know i was having a car trouble?”

“um.” the kid frowns, his brunette, wavy locks are blown by the hot afternoon breeze. “i was just coming back from a jog, then, uh, i saw you pulling over.”

bruce notices that the kid’s plain white t-shirt is still smelling like cotton, not _sweat_ , and whoever goes jogging in a pair of threadbare jeans and worn out converse?

“i see.” but bruce decides to play along. “let me just grab my things.” he pockets his keys, his dead phone (right), and wallet. he's got his beeper sewn in the inner lining of his custom made wallet. alfred will know his location in twenty seconds.

the kid introduces himself as clark kent, a senior in the only high school here in smallville, population approximately a thousand and five hundred-ish people. bruce tells his first and middle name, because even though smallville is a small town, he doesn’t want to waste his time even further with questions. his newly grown, full faced beard should be enough to cover his identity, but yeah, _no_ , he’s not taking any risk.

the kents own a barn and a couple hectares of corn and wheat fields. the flowery wallpapers are tasteful but there’s no one at home. ma is a beautiful gray haired woman and right now she’s working at the diner, clark explains, and pa, from what bruce finds on the framed photographs, never stops smiling like he can’t get enough of the world.

clark makes the phone call and of course, a small chat with whoever it is on the other line. his laughter is _sweet_ , there’s no other word for it. bruce remembers when he was clark’s age he was already getting his master’s degree and running the wayne enterprise to expand its business to new zealand, certainly not lending hands to a stranger who happened to drive pass by his house. back then, when he was seventeen, did bruce also have a sweet laugh? he can’t remember.

“bruce?” clark is smiling sheepishly at him. his big blue, blue eyes are telling bruce that he’s sorry he had to cut off bruce’s nostalgia. “joshua from the workshop will be here in ten minutes. would you like the lemonade now?”

“yes, thank you.” bruce robotically nods and offers a tight smile of his own. he feels way too big—too _ominous_ , even—for the kents’ modest dining room. the whole family must have their breakfast and dinner over here; this happy little family of three with a very sweet and polite teenage son who's pushing buttons bruce never knew were there.

he gets up from his seat with an abrupt bang. the chair is toppling back noisily and clark blinks, dare bruce says, _cutely_ , as he opens a cupboard.

“i’m—s-sorry, i—” bruce clears his throat. the apology, that one word, it feels so foreign on his tongue. hell, it _tastes_ like bile when he says it. he rights up the chair with a trembling hand, and he has to try breathing like a normal person through his mouth instead of his nose.

clark leaves a tall glass unattended to help bruce, but bruce shakes his head. he lets the kid hovering near him but not touching him. he’s anything but pure. hysterically, he doesn’t want clark to catch anything.

“bruce?” clark whispers, worry etched in the lone syllable. “do you want to lie down?”

“no.” bruce concentrates on the material of the chair and he counts to twenty. his head is not exactly spinning, but it’s still muddy. when he gets his voice back, he pleads, “can we have the drink outside?”

 

✖

 

the man, bruce richard, or so he had told clark even though clark is suspicious he’s not telling the truth—drinks the lemonade in one gulp. clark doesn’t mean to, but with how bruce is sitting close to him on the steps overlooking the barn and the corn field, he can hear bruce’s frantic heart beats. heck, he can even sense bruce is beating himself up by telling his nerves to _calm the fuck down, for god's sake._

bruce gets no such luck so far.

clark doesn’t know what happened in the dining room just minutes ago; it clearly made bruce lose his calm. and clark knows he can’t ask, _but_ if he can help, even if just a little, he’s more than willing to do anything for this stranger who was so calm when he found out his (very cool!) car broke down.

the hot weather is expected on such endless day in july.

“would you like another glass?” clark asks, watching perspirations making their appearance on bruce’s nape. the man is _huge_ ; from the shape of his head to the impressive width of his shoulders. not to mention his height. clark is not short for an eighteen year old, but the older man is just. like. like bruce is building himself to look like _that_ , he earns it, probably spent hours and years, unlike clark with his superpowers.

“no, thanks.” bruce turns his head to mimic what he thinks is a smile. clark doesn’t agree with him. “it’s really good. did you make it yourself?”

“ma did.” clark puts down his own glass. “she made fruitcake yesterday, would you like some? or if you prefer chocolate chip cookies?”

bruce barks out a laugh. which _doesn’t_ sound like a laugh but it’s a genuine one. clark refuses to acknowledge the shiver it sends to his spine.

“no, thank you so much, clark, you’re too kind.” bruce does smile this time and it’s a foreign look on his solemn face. still, clark wants to wipe the sweat on his nape for him. “where’s your pa?”

clark blinks. that hits him right in the wrong places. swallowing sudden bitter saliva, he tries to make himself sound unaffected and says, “pa... he passed away last year.”

it's a hot summer. smallville _is_ hot in july. but there's a sudden dark cloud storming bruce's expression. the older man is trying to inhale and exhale a series of shaky breaths.

“i’m—” bruce begins, only to pause to run one bigbigbig hand across his jet black hair. “i—”

it’s disheartening. there’s no other word for it. it’s disheartening for clark to see a man of bruce’s size at a loss of words. not that bruce is talkative in the first place, but clark thinks bruce shouldn’t feel sorry for a kid he barely knows until he’s rendered speechless like this. no. bruce can be huge and calm and a softie in disguise, but not like this.

so clark throws his arms around those widewidewide shoulders and holds on tight, squeezing bruce to his chest, pressing his nose to the damp skin of bruce’s neck. bruce smells like spicy vanilla—if that makes any sense—and his heart beats are still racing, but he doesn’t punch clark even after a minute, then two, then five, and both jump like cats trying to catch laser lights at the loud honking sound from the front yard.

“s-sorry!” now clark feels himself flushing, red and ironically hot, from the root of his hair to the tips of his ears. “i wasn’t—you looked like you needed it, bruce, sir, i’m so sorry!” he’s squeaking. he doesn’t care that he’s squeaking.

bruce is quick to get on his feet. he puts his hands on the pockets of his jeans, hunching his shoulders and taking _a lot_ of steps back. clark doesn’t blame him. that was quite a shock even for himself. what was he thinking!? urgh!

“it’s okay, that’s fine—” bruce tilts his head up, looking at anywhere but clark who’s still kneeling on the steps. “i didn’t mind.” and maybe clark is being wishful but is that a hint of smirk on the older man’s face? the sun can cast a deceiving shadow at this time of the hour.

“you’re most welcome!” clark thanks god almighty that he doesn’t trip over his feet or the steps or worse, _the air_ , when he stands up. still flushing, he babbles about joshua waiting for them and leaves the older man smirking to the blue, afternoon sky.

 

✖

 

his camaro needs to stay in the shop for one night. the repairing will be done after lunch tomorrow. bruce can’t have that. the scheduled meeting in metropolis can wait, that’s true, but not _that long._

“is there a car rental around?” bruce asks joshua, a middle aged man who’s about clark’s pa age, and joshua offers his truck for free.

bruce’s wholehearted bewilderment is killing joshua, his men, and clark. while the whole shop is roaring with laughter, clark giggles sweetly; politely hiding it with a clenched fist.

“just fill her tank and we’re good, bruce, no big deal!” joshua waves one blackened hand and his men are back to their respective tasks.

“right, thank you so much.” bruce smiles and he sees the truck parked just outside the spacious shop. it’s metallic red in color but thankfully it doesn’t have weird accessories other than a huge bull head painting on the hood.

as if reading his mind, clark comments that the bull is not that bad. and just like any other teenager with a short attention span, he practically shouts, “oh! please stay for dinner? metropolis is only four hours away. i’ll call ma so we can have early dinner.” clark is rocking back and forth on his converse clad heels, looking giddy and full of expectation. bruce snorts. why would the kid want to spend more time with him? he didn’t even hug clark back.

heh.

bruce can imagine alfred's silent judging face the butler would've made if he was here with him.

“yeah, do that, buddy. martha cooks killer beef lasagna.” joshua chimes in, already busy calculating what’s the first procedure to do to bruce’s car, not minding what the name he just said does something to our protagonist's sanity.

"clark, say hi to her from me. my keys have a bull head keychain, yeah? you know where it is.”

“you betcha.” clark, the sweet summer child, bids everyone goodbye and goes to get the keys from the back office.

bruce asks with a barely audible voice after clark tosses him the keys, “martha?”

“the one and only.” clark’s big blue, blue eyes light up. “um, but, like. if you’re in a hurry, we can eat at ma’s diner. doesn’t matter.”

bruce checks the time. it’s just a little after four in the afternoon. he should have known better.

“i can stay if we have early dinner.” but then again he's only human. he has plenty of time to regret everything later.

clark's scrunchy nose is worth it anyway. “does six sound good? we can play games while waiting!”

“six sounds good." it feels liberating for bruce to smile. he just hopes that he doesn't look predatory or worse, _fatherly_ , as he smiles at clark. "we can play games, or we can help your mother."

clark playfully clicks his tongue, following bruce to the awaiting truck with another playful pout that bruce might or might not want to kiss.

 

✖

 

bruce is thirty one years old. he owns some businesses and the lack of ring on his left hand is telling clark that he's not married yet.

the latter fact shouldn't make clark cheer in delight silence, but clark is only human.

"i'm eighteen." a _teenager_ human. "i'm planning to go to a local community college just thirty minutes from home."

bruce drives with his one big hand, the other is placed on his muscular thigh. his long legs are spread, upper body tilted slightly toward clark as they chat. he's _literally_  filling up the space of the driver's seat with his bulk. the sight is remarkable, mainly because clark can't take his eyes off of the older man and the natural envy of how he wish he can be as overwhelming when he reaches bruce's age.

he can start now, anyway. by getting a good grip of himself. why would a man so appealing want to spend more time with him, a country bumpkin?

"hey." bruce reaches to knock clark's temple with his knuckles. when clark looks up he sees bruce smiling gently at him. "i kinda lost you. you okay?"

_ah. why do you have to smile like that, bruce?_

"'m fine," clark looks away to see mrs. johnson taking a walk with her two year old son, just right around the corner where ma's diner is located. "we're here."

the diner is quite crowded. their apple pie and pancakes are the highlight in the afternoon. the homemade vanilla and raspberry ice cream are a great choice in the summer. clark holds the jingling door open for bruce and again, bruce seems to fill up the whole place with his mere presence.

it's easy to spot ma. she's busy behind the kitchen and the owner, don charlie, knows clark all his life.

"clark?" ma checks on him as she pours the pancake dough to a pan.

"hi ma. hi to you too, don." clark greets the old, old man with a clap on don's weathering shoulders. "may i borrow a very fine lady for the rest of the shift? i've got a guest and we have to feed him."

"just tell me the guest is the king of england or something." don smiles and clark moves to kiss ma's cheeks.

"he could be," clark nods at ma's playful raised eyebrows. "but no, his car broke down and i just happened to help him."

"go take my finest cook, young man. but i need help to close the place later tonight!" don shoos them away with his spatula. "take some cupcakes though. pinky just baked them."

"yes, sir!" clark grins and tells ma that he's going to wait as she packs up. on the front counter, he finds pinky is already charmed by bruce.

"clark! isn't he too old to be your friend!" pinky is a young woman who dreams to open her own cake shop. she's been gracing don's diner with her sweetness.

"i hope my old friend likes cupcakes." clark gestures toward the pile of colorful treats and pinky gets him a paper bag.

"sure, why not?" meanwhile bruce comments nonchalantly with a smile and a _look_ at clark's general direction. poor clark is so _not_ blushing.

ma comes out without an apron and her gray hair in a bun.

"hello, martha clark." she offers bruce her hand and bruce's smile is actually breathtaking when he shakes ma's hand gently. somehow, clark wants bruce's gentle touch, too.

"bruce way—richard, ma'am. bruce richard." even bruce's sheepish smile is breathtaking. "heard you cook killer lasagna."

just like pinky, ma is charmed as well. _who wouldn't?_ clark thinks, annoyed by the discovery and then annoyed by himself. he did find bruce first, right, but who is he to lay a claim on the man even in the confinement of his private mind?

 

 

**_T B C (?)_ **

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
